Mr Smith: A Study
by Glorifield
Summary: A rouge agent has no place in this new Matrix.
1. Chapter 1

The carpet smelled like cat piss and cinnamon. It filled the nostrils of a man lying naked with his face pressed into the rough material. He gagged and coughed, causing him to fully awaken. He sat up cautiously and took inventory of his surroundings.

He was in the middle of a small room. The wall paper was yellow and peeling around thrift store quality framed paintings. There was a couch that may have once matched the wallpaper, but now was faded and stained. Leading from the room, he could see an unimpressive kitchen and a hallway that, he assumed, connected to a bedroom and a bathroom. A smudged window revealed a city view from several stories high. It was an apartment, _and a rather grungy one at that, _he thought.

This room, this whole apartment, was not familiar, but the word "home" repeated in the naked man's head. With the word still feeling foreign, he stood up and went down the hall.

His assumption had been correct, there was a bathroom. Looking himself over, he cringed. He looked so weak, so fleshy, so... human.  
_But what else would I be? _He leaned in closer to see his face more clearly. Blue eyes stared back, looking for an answer. A purpose.

"Who am I?" He said aloud. His own voice, staccato and robotic, made him straighten his shoulders and tighten his jaw. Brushing a wisp of hair back into place, he spoke to the reflection, drawing a name that felt right. "You are Mr. Smith."


	2. Chapter 2

"Interesting," The Architect murmured as he leaned back in his chair. His control board, usually full of screens revealing the lives of those in the Matrix, was today only filled with one life story.

He leaned forward again, watching as the former agent intentionally pulled a suit from a closet full of a variety of clothing. "Very interesting. Even with no memory, he falls into his original programmed habits." Light and color from the screens danced across his face and beard, yet his eyes remained dark. They were calculating, but otherwise empty of the excitement a scientist would have when studying such a specimen. The Architect motioned with his hand, opening the door. Agents Jones and Brown entered simultaneously.

"I want you to follow your former comrade; I may need you to intervene eventually. His program is only human now, so it should not be difficult to restrain him if necessary."

Brown and Jones nodded in sync and turn to leave. Brown paused. "May I asked the purpose of this experiment?"

The old man turned to one of his creations and gave an empty smile. "Have you ever ready philosophy, Agent? Of course you haven't; you would have no interest. You know your purpose, your creation, and your role in life. Yet, humans are constantly trying to discover these things about themselves. One question that is discussed by a number of them is whether a person is inherently good or inherently bad. I wish to know this about my own programs. When one breaks their purpose and programming, it is concerning. It ruins the flow and stability of the Matrix. Given no memories, will Smith rebel as he did before?"

The agents responded with raised eyebrows.

The man scoffed. "It's a rhetorical question. You do not have to answer it."  
With that they nodded again and left, simply vanishing. The Architect massaged the bridge of his nose before turning his attention back to the screens.

A fully clothed Smith was about to leave his house.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello! Thank you so much for reading this far. Normally I like to respond personally to my reviewers, but I'm in the rare situation where they are all guests. So...**

**Snowflake- Thank you so much for sticking with me this long. It means a lot to me. I'm aware the chapters are short. I promise longer ones as the plot continues. **

**Xeno- I am SO glad you're hooked. Here's hoping you enjoy this chapter as well.**  
***

The sun was warm and bright, heating Smith's black suit jacket. Smith looked at the city streets slowly. He took in every detail, attempting to piece together his life. He was aware of several things: he had no money, no ID, no memory of himself other than a name, and that he was far too calm about all if it.

Yes, he acknowledged that many humans, of normal functioning brains, should be concerned- no, downright panicked- about the situation in which he found himself, but he saw no benefit to worrying.

Nothing looked familiar, but then again nothing looked unfamiliar either. The city was, by most standards, impressive. It's building reached for the unattainable sky. Advertisements flashed on large screen, suspended in the air by poles and wires. Smith decided he did not like it. Something was off. Something made him cringe. It was the odor.

Something was pungent. He had been vaguely aware of it before, but now, amongst the city crowds, it was overwhelming. He gasped, his steped back. In a vain attempt to block the smell, he pulled his blazer over his nose.

_"What is it?!"_ He thought desperately, _"and why doesn't anyone else seem to notice?"_

He jerked his head out from his jacket, realizing it came from him as well. _"It's people?"_ His face screwed up in disgust. "We're disgusting." He said the last part in a low growl, backing into a less crowded store.

Taking a few breaths of less polluted air, Smith regained his composure. He pushed his hair back and straightened his cuffs. It was now that the panic was seizing him. Goosebumps sprung up on his arms and neck just thinking out returning to the outside. There were so many of them- pushing and shoving. Squirming on the streets, on the road, in the buildings. And that smell. It was enough to make him sick. His heart raced. Sweat gleamed on his brow. Yet, Smith remained standing still, his eyes looking directly forward.

His hand curled slowly into a fist.

_Panic? Panic was weak. Panic was like them. All of them. Anger. Anger was right. This horde of beings were completely disgusting. He too was disgusting. _

Turning to the back of the store, he strode confidently brushing people aside as he walked. Inwardly he cringed at the touch of them, but it was worth it to watch them crumple and fall away before him. A chorus of "hey"s and "watch it!"s followed him down the isles. He found what he was looking for quickly. On a small turn table, a display of sunglasses revealed many distorted reflections of Smith glaring back at him. He gave a smug smile to the reflections before grabbing a pair he liked.

As he placed the tinted glass over his eyes his shoulders lowered. His body relaxed all over. His bright blue eyes, so human and vulnerable, were protected from the world...and the world was protected from those eyes.

He walked out of the store while the manager shouted, "HEY! Buddy! You have to pay for those!"

***

Had Smith turned around he would have seen two men dressed similarly to him talking to the store manager.

Brown's gazed followed Smith, although he continued to talk to the disgruntled man. "Don't worry, sir. We will find him and return your...merchandise."

Jones had already begun to pursue is former leader.


End file.
